


Jump

by capricornia



Category: K-pop, NCT (Band), SEVENTEEN (Band)
Genre: Bathroom Sex, Blow Jobs, Canon Compliant, Hand Jobs, Inkigayo Hookup Cinematic Universe, M/M, Semi-Public Sex, brief appearance by Bratty Chan
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-28
Updated: 2020-10-28
Packaged: 2021-03-09 00:41:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,447
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27235924
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/capricornia/pseuds/capricornia
Summary: With Mark, Chan is on equal footing. Maybe a little higher ground. Or he would be, anyway, because nothing has happened between them yet except some very heated glances over the last two years or so. These have always been in private, where there are no cameras, or where cameras can’t catch them. Mark knows how to play the game.
Relationships: Lee Chan | Dino/Mark Lee (NCT)
Comments: 25
Kudos: 109
Collections: The Inkigayo Bathroom Cinematic Universe





	Jump

**Author's Note:**

> Another installment in the Inkigayo Bathroom Hookup Cinematic Universe! 
> 
> Big thanks to Ria and Em.
> 
> Title from "Jump" by Van Halen.

Mark Lee is six months younger than Chan. 

This is not a fact that really matters to anyone else, because they’re both grouped in the 1999 category, and they’re not even in the same band. But it matters to Chan, because with Mark, Chan is on equal footing. Maybe a little higher ground. Or he would be, anyway, because nothing has happened between them yet except some very heated glances over the last two years or so. These have always been in private, where there are no cameras, or where cameras can’t catch them. Mark knows how to play the game. 

This is something Chan appreciates about Mark.

It’s not the only thing he appreciates about Mark. He’s reminded of that when Soonyoung pokes him in the arm while they’re in the car on the way to Inkigayo and says, “Are you excited to see NCT?” with a stupid little smirk Chan can’t blame him for because he knows it’s not malicious, and Chan thinks about the last time he saw Mark, at some event he can’t remember anything about, when Mark was filming something with Johnny and laughing, and his hair was styled and pretty, and he’d clung to Johnny’s arm like it was the only thing keeping him from drifting away.

“I guess,” he responds, flicking through his phone and trying to appear nonchalant about it. It doesn’t work, of course. Soonyoung just laughs, because he can always see right through Chan. 

Soonyoung is annoying sometimes, but he has Chan’s back, in a manner of speaking. And so when their groups run into each other in the hallway, Soonyoung is the one who seeks out Mark. He nudges Chan again and nods to where Mark and Lucas are talking. “When did Mark get so grown-up?” Soonyoung says. Chan watches him rub his chin like he’s a wise old man stroking his beard. “He’s so small next to Lucas, though,” Soonyoung muses. “Lucas could pick him up. He’s older than you, you know.”

Chan didn’t know.

It doesn’t matter that Lucas is older than him. Everyone is. It does matter that Lucas is older than Mark. Or—it doesn’t matter so much as it makes something new wake up inside him to see Mark next to someone his age, being smaller and younger and flailing all around with nervous energy.

Not that Mark is smaller than Chan. 

“Pick him up?” Chan says, instead of something stupid, like _Do you think Mark’s hands have gotten manlier since the last time we saw him?_ “Sounds like you projecting.” 

Soonyoung shrugs. “He’s strong. Jun told me.”

Of course.

Jun knows the various Chinese members of NCT; Jun hangs out with the foreign idols. Jun knows Chan’s age issues, or whatever. And so Jun knows about Chan’s thing for Mark.

Which is why he says, “Look, it’s Mark,” the second Mark walks into the little waiting area where all the makeup-less idols go to see each other laid bare. Or that’s how Minghao once described it. Chan does not _lay himself bare_ , and neither does Minghao, for that matter. And neither does Mark.

But Mark does laugh awkwardly with Johnny and Jaehyun, and Chan watches Mingyu watching them. Mark glances over at Chan and bites his lip, and Chan drags his gaze over the line of Mark’s shoulders in his t-shirt. Mark comes over to where Chan is sitting next to Jun and says, “Hi, hyung, Renjun sends his regards. He’s already getting his makeup done.” And Chan plays with his own lips and traces with his eyes the way the white backstage lighting hangs on Mark’s cheekbones. 

It’s kind of a shitty excuse to come over and talk to Chan—to Chan and Jun—unless Renjun specifically did ask Mark to send a message to Jun. Which is possible, now that Chan thinks about it. 

“Have you been practicing your Mandarin?” Jun asks him. 

Mark nods. “I’ve been practicing a lot,” he says in Mandarin. “With Renjun and Chenle. And Lucas and Ten.” Jun’s eyebrows go up. 

“I’ve been learning Mandarin, too,” Chan says in Mandarin. 

Mark finally looks at Chan full-on. He’s standing, and Jun and Chan are sitting, and Chan has a perfect view of his pretty eyes and lips. He’s wearing green contacts, and he has some sort of lip balm on that makes his mouth look dewy in a soft sort of way. That’s another thing Chan appreciates about Mark. The realization that he _wants_ Mark doesn’t come as a surprise, but the excitement he feels about it does. Mark’s eyes flick up and down, taking in his face. Chan hasn’t gotten into his Seventeen’s Maknae Dino mode yet, and he knows his expression looks serious and sharp on his soft face as he stares back at Mark. Mark bites his lip again. 

“Say hi to Renjun for me,” Jun says, switching back to Korean. Chan doesn’t have to look to know that his eyes are twinkling like a mysterious old man. “Although he has my number.”

Then Jun gets up to go talk to Wonwoo. And Chan is left to watch the slow slide of Mark’s tongue over his lower lip. 

Here’s the thing about being friends with idols in other groups: it works if, like Jun and Renjun and Chenle and the rest, you come from the same country and speak the same language. That’s a shared experience right there. Something to break the mold of your own group. If you don’t have that, you have to find something else. It doesn’t always work, because the people in your group know everything about you, and the people in other groups know how the idol industry works but they don’t know _you_ , and then you’re left with two options. You can make inconsequential small talk about idolhood, or you can make unnerving deep conversation that also inevitably circles back around to idolhood. 

_How are you?_ Fine, thanks, and you? _Tired. I saw your latest music video._ Oh, really? What did you think? _It was great._ Thanks for the support. When is your comeback? _Two weeks._ I’ll be sure to check it out. 

Chan doesn’t like it, but he’s as good at bullshitting as the rest of them. 

_How are your parents?_ Fine. I think. Haven’t seen them in person in two years. They won’t tell me if anything’s wrong, and they won’t let me help them with their mortgage. I talked to them on the phone yesterday and didn’t realize I wasn’t speaking the language I grew up with until halfway through. How are yours? _Well, they won’t get divorced because it’ll make headlines somehow. You know how it is._ _Sometimes I wish I’d never gotten into this. I wish I’d gone to a different company. Do you like where you are, what you’re doing? Do you ever think about just running away?_ Yes. And also no. And if my company didn’t catch me two steps out the door of my dorm, the sasaengs would. But I love what I do, you know? _I know. You have to._

Such things almost don’t need to be said. Say them once, the conversation never needs to be brought up again. It’s true the first time you say it, it’ll be true the next. It’ll be true until you’re forty. Chan wonders if it’ll be true until they all die. 

Whichever comes first. 

So Mark doesn’t know what Chan likes, but he knows how Chan _works_. 

Here’s the thing about Mark: he’s one of those people who can’t stay still. He’s always on the move, always laughing, always twisting his hands and head this way and that. Jittery energy just _radiates_ off him. He fiddles with his hands now, shifts from foot to foot. Despite everything, from what Chan has seen, he is also completely relaxed in every environment. (If Chan has watched a few of NCT’s videos on YouTube, no, he hasn’t.) Mark is comfortable flirting with interviewers, asking strangers questions. He’s comfortable being awkward and silly in front of a camera. 

The other thing about Mark: he is very, very good at his job. 

It’s something that annoys the crap out of Chan from time to time. That’s not particular to Mark, exactly. He’s always had a low patience threshold when it comes to Performative Idol Bullshit. He’ll perform, too (and really, when is he not performing?), but it doesn’t mean he doesn’t get annoyed when members of his own group act the way they do in public, for the manufactured environments, for the camera. For the fans. Mark plays the game well in this aspect, too. Giggle, rap, stammer, laugh, touch members, rap, say something in English. Rinse, repeat. 

He can respect it, but he doesn’t have to appreciate it, on a personal level.

“I saw your dance video,” Mark says into the little bubble of silence they’re in. Someone else from NCT is making a commotion in the corner of the room. Mark doesn’t even turn around to check who it is. “The danceology. It was cool,” he says. 

Okay, so this comes as a surprise. “Thank you,” Chan says, unsure of how pleased he’s supposed to be.

“You worked hard on it,” Mark says. Not a question. Chan nods. “I’ve always wanted to do something like that,” Mark continues. “I like dance, but I’d love to do a rap or something. On my own, you know.”

Chan thinks about Wonwoo’s notebooks full of lyrics and Seungcheol’s story of recording things on his laptop on the roof of their building when none of them knew about it, and bites his tongue. 

“Anyway, I just wanted to say it’s cool that you’re doing something you’re passionate about. It’s, you know. It’s difficult.”

That sums it up pretty well. It’s difficult. 

Chan can tell by Mark’s proximity to the door to the makeup rooms and by the tenseness in his shoulders that he’s not due to be in the makeup chair for a while. NCT and Seventeen all being on a program together was a shitty idea, planning-wise. Chan’s not complaining, though. 

He checks his watch. Thirty minutes until he gets into the makeup chair with the rest of the performance team and transforms into Seventeen’s Maknae Dino. “It helps,” he says, “for me. Dancing. It’s a way to get frustration out.”

Mark nods like he gets it. Runs his tongue along his lip again. Laughs awkwardly. It reminds Chan once again that he’s the older one here, that there’s nothing but them and their free choices. Does Mark want him? Maybe. His heavy gaze, lingering on Chan’s mouth, says yes. Does Chan want Mark? There’s no question about that one. Does he want to get off, let out his nerves a little, help Mark get his own frustration out? Yes. 

Then all that’s left is—

“I think I left my phone in the bathroom,” Mark says.

“Call it with my phone,” Chan offers, and holds up his phone. Mark looks amused as he takes the phone and punches in his number. He drags Chan out of the room by sheer force of his personality. Chan follows him down the hallway. Mark leads him through an unmarked door and down a smaller hallway to a sign marked _staff_.

“Jaehyun showed me this bathroom,” he says. He opens the door and presses _call_.

His phone vibrates in his pocket two seconds later. 

“Oh,” Chan says, surprised. Mark giggles. 

“Now you have my number,” he says. 

“Yeah,” Chan says, still a little dumbfounded at Mark’s little trick. 

“Dino,” Mark says, still holding the door open. The bathroom is single-occupancy. “Uh.”

Chan swallows. “Chan,” he corrects. “Lee Chan.”

“Lee Minhyung.” Mark laughs again. 

Mark may be six months younger, but he’s taller than Chan. Chan slips around him into the bathroom. When Mark follows him, Chan feels a tiny thrill start somewhere in his stomach. 

“I have to be in the makeup chair in twenty-seven minutes,” Chan says. Listing boundaries is important. No one wants a repeat of that one time with Jeonghan.

“I don’t have a change of clothes,” Mark answers, confident, like he’s done this before. Maybe he has. Chan has, though not in this particular bathroom. He—he and Soonyoung are no strangers to rushed fucking in bathrooms, practice rooms, dorm rooms, always in in-between places. In between the bleak reality of idolhood and the dazzling fake sets of television. In between the company and the fans. In between Wonwoo and Jun’s room and Seungcheol and Joshua’s, that one time in Texas. 

Mark and him are in between, too. In the space between their two groups. Between their natural selves and their stage selves. Mark has his green contacts in. Chan’s in his stage pants already. 

Mark crowds him up against the door. Chan’s always been at his best under pressure like this. Hard wall at his back, warm, taller body wriggling against him. Chan lifts himself up on his toes and kisses Mark. 

Mark goes pliant faster than Chan expected him to. He makes a little squeak of a noise, then a more throaty one, and then he opens his mouth and lets Chan lick into him. His mouth tastes like coffee and strawberries, and Chan’s probably tastes residually of toothpaste, and Mark’s mouth is hot. Hot and wanting and wet against Chan’s. The lip balm is slightly greasy, a reality check.

“Shit,” Mark says in English when Chan pulls back. “Fuck.”

Chan laughs. “You’re so hot,” he says. He’s feeling a little reckless, exhilarated with freedom. He can just say what he wants. No worrying, no pretending. They’re the same. NCT might as well stand for No Consequences… something. He doesn’t know enough words in English, and three-quarters of his brain is focused on Mark’s thighs against his. 

“Hey,” he says against Mark’s jaw, “what’s a word in English that begins with the letter T?”

Mark groans. Chan can’t tell if it’s in the sexy kind of way or not. “T,” Mark says, “is for _take these off_.” He gets his hands on Chan’s pants and starts undoing the buttons. 

Chan realizes this was a mistake as soon as Mark pushes the pants one centimeter down his hips. 

“How did you get into these?” Mark asks, shoving ineffectually.

Chan shrugs. “Jumped. Hoshi hyung helped.”

Mark pulls back. His gaze on Chan is dark, irises invisible under his green contacts, eclipsed by his pupils. “Yeah?” he breathes. “He help you out a lot?”

Oh, so that’s what he likes. “Yes,” Chan says. “He takes care of me.”

“You like having someone take care of you?” 

Chan tilts his head back so he can watch Mark’s face fully as he steps back into Mark’s space and pushes his thigh between Mark’s legs. “Why?” he says, just shy of taunting. “You think you can measure up?”

Mark giggles again. 

“There’s nothing funny,” Chan says, letting his annoyance show through just this once, and then he walks Mark in a little arc until his back hits the wall next to the sink. Mark doesn’t blush prettily, like how they make him up sometimes. He gets slightly red all over his face, and tries to hide behind his hands. Chan grabs them, pulls them apart. Threads their fingers together. Pushes Mark’s hands against the wall, too. “Don’t hide,” he says. He means it to come out rough, mean, but it sounds like begging to his own ears. 

Mark’s eyes are wide. Chan wishes he could see him without the contacts suddenly. Something dangerous stirs in his stomach, mixing with that little thrill, swirling into something dark and heady, spiraling down to his dick. 

Chan wants to say something stupid, like _how does it feel to be born in the summer_ , or _you can call me hyung_. Which would be stupid, because he’s not really Mark’s hyung. So he doesn’t. He brings his knee up against Mark’s clothed dick and watches Mark gasp, fully on display. 

“Want to suck you off,” Mark says, voice two shades deeper than Chan’s used to hearing it. 

“Oh,” says Chan, stupidly. 

“But your pants,” Mark complains. 

“Next time,” Chan decides. “I have your number, remember? Let me do you. You look like you could use a break.”

Mark’s head thumps back against the wall. Chan _has_ to kiss him again. Mark’s lips are plump now, pink and soft. Really, Chan’s doing him a favor. He’ll look so sexy when he goes on television. Mark licks into his mouth, hot and sweet, and Chan remembers, like he does every time he does it, how much he _loves_ making out. Mark kisses his nose, then his cheek, then bends to kiss along his jaw. Chan squeezes his hands. Mark curls his fingers over Chan’s knuckles.

“You’re different when you’re off the stage,” Mark says, voice muffled into Chan’s neck. 

Chan laughs, feeling his throat vibrate against Mark’s face. “I know.”

“Thought it was fake,” Mark babbles. “You’re so sexy, you know that? You’re scary.”

Chan’s hips jerk forward. Mark giggles. It’s less annoying when Chan can feel the huffs of air caressing his skin. “Like that?” Mark says, pressing kisses into Chan’s collar. “Your hyungs tell you you’re scary?” he says, tumbling into the truth a little too much for this to be a fun, sexy one-off thing, edging very close to crossing the boundary set out by the unspoken Inkigayo Hookup Rule: no talking about other people.

Because this is the third option for dalliances between groups: “Don’t talk,” Chan says into Mark’s hair, flexing his fingers again, “just shut up, stay right there.” He moves, and Mark raises his head to kiss his mouth again. In sync, they’re so in sync, but it’s in a new sort of way, not like it is with Chan and Soonyoung. Soonyoung knows what Chan wants, and Chan knows how Soonyoung operates. With Mark, here in this bathroom, it’s easy, because there’s none of that other stuff. No Consequences, Take These Off. Chan just _wants_ , and Mark makes this fucking sinful noise when Chan releases one of his hands to palm his dick through his pants, and Mark is hard and Chan is hard, and so Chan chases what he wants, again and again. 

“Like that,” Mark says, “yeah. Chan, yeah.”

Chan has to let go of his other hand to get Mark’s jeans open, and then he’s pushing down Mark’s underwear. 

“Oh,” Chan says. 

Mark huffs a little laugh. Chan wonders how keyed up he has to be to stop laughing like that, if it can be fucked out of him. 

“I wasn’t expecting you to be so big,” Chan says honestly.

“You should see Johnny,” Mark says. His eyes widen as soon as he realizes what he’s said. 

This is why the third option is the most dangerous. Mark is good at his job, at parsing out all his identities. And Chan knows that he himself is good at controlling his reactions. But he’s good at it when he’s with his members, and when he’s on the clock, so to speak, talking to interviewers and radio hosts and fans. Other idols stir the pot. Mess up the game. Add in new rules. Put a Lego figure between a pawn and a queen. Overturn the board. Johnny is supposed to be Mark’s business. 

“You should see Mingyu,” Chan says lightly. Mark relaxes. “Come on,” Chan says cajolingly. “Let me suck you off. Let go, Lee Minhyung. Mark.” He tries to pronounce the name well in English. Mark’s answering moan tells him he did well, though maybe that’s the hand Chan curls around his dick. Mark is fully hard now, and Chan’s mouth kind of waters. 

So he likes sucking dick. Sue him. At least he’s not as eager about it as Wonwoo is. That would be slightly embarrassing. 

“Shit,” Mark swears again in English when Chan kneels down. 

“I need to sing, so don’t actually fuck my throat,” Chan says. 

“Okay,” Mark says, “okay.” Chan likes the acknowledgment. He likes directness. Tell people what to do, they do it. Tell people how he feels, so they know. Action B follows Action A. Maybe it’s because he doesn’t like the uncertainty of not knowing. So it’s good that he knows where he stands with Mark, which is only in this bathroom, in this moment, in the twenty minutes left until Chan has to be in the makeup chair.

No Consequences. Right.

The fit of his own skinny jeans is tight around his hips and ass, trapping his cock painfully. He takes Mark’s cock in his hand and guides it to his mouth, then flattens his tongue and starts bobbing his head gently as he tries to get his own pants down again. It’s difficult to start this blowjob while he’s trying to get his pants past his ass, but he tries damn hard to do it. 

“Let me help you,” Mark begs around his vocal fry, like he really actually wants to get Chan half-naked, and Chan pops off his dick to make room for him as he kneels down too. “Sit up,” Mark says. Chan straightens on his knees. Mark reaches around, gets his palms on Chan’s ass, and stops. “Whoa,” he says.

Chan rolls his eyes. “I know, I know.”

Mark shakes his head. “No, I mean, _whoa_. This is—like—you’re so. Shit, dude, you’re so hot.”

“So are you,” Chan says softly. “Mark.”

Mark pulls back to look at his face. A little grin is playing around his closed mouth, waiting to turn into a bigger grin. “Yeah?” he says.

Chan nods enthusiastically. “Yeah.”

“ _Shiiiiiit_ ,” Mark says again. It’s awkward, but Chan kind of finds it cute. “Okaaaay,” Mark says. And then he runs his palms flat up Chan’s back, then down again to grab Chan’s waist. Then he dips his fingers under the loose waistband of Chan’s pants and over his skin. “Oh my God,” he says as he drags Chan forward over the bathroom tile by his ass. Equal footing, Chan remembers. No consequences, Mark wants him and he wants Mark. But it’s getting hard not to slip back into some kind of persona, whatever version of him it is that wants to be pulled into a lap and fucked like a doll. 

Mark pushes his pants down as Chan stretches up. This takes two minutes out of the equation, because now he’ll have to put them back on when they’re done. It’s worth it, though, for Mark’s intake of breath, for the hand that immediately wraps around Chan’s cock, making him jerk forward into Mark’s grip, then backward into his other hand on Chan’s ass.

“Yeah,” Mark’s saying, “yeah.” 

“I’m supposed to be sucking you off,” Chan says.

“I changed my mind.”

Chan bats Mark’s hand away. “Let me,” he says. He has a goal now, and he’s not going to be deterred by Mark’s fixation on his ass and cock. 

Mark laughs again, but it’s a little different, a little charged this time. A little mean. “Okay,” he says, “if you want it so badly,” he says, “if you want to be a brat about it.”

Chan feels like his mouth is flooded with saliva and his veins are coursing with acid, lightning zipping down his arms to his wrists. “I’ll show you being a brat,” he says, and pushes Mark so his back hits the tiles. Mark, because one hand is still over Chan’s now-bare ass, pulls Chan with him, on top of him. 

“Can I suck you off?” Chan asks. Begs, whatever. So what.

“You really want to?”

Chan gives Mark a look. “Is it not obvious? We have sixteen minutes left before I have to be in makeup; if you keep making excuses, you’re going to just be hard and unsatisfied on air.”

“Oh, dang,” Mark says. “True. Okay. Go for it.”

Chan pushes Mark’s legs apart so he fits comfortably between them, and then he really goes to town on Mark’s dick. Not only does Chan like sucking cock, he’s good at it. (He’s been told so, by at least more than two people. Has it gotten to his head? Maybe.) Mark groans and reaches at Chan’s head, jerking his hand back from Chan’s hair at the last second, then going in for it again. Chan hums to let him know it’s okay to grab at his hair, and Mark jerks in his mouth. 

Mark coming apart at the seams is, above all else, cool to see. Interesting, fascinating. Really fucking hot. He doesn’t fall apart in pieces; he’s too professional for that. No consequences doesn’t mean _do whatever you want with wild abandon_. But he groans low in his throat, vibrates against Chan, pulls Chan’s hair. Chan takes him in, takes his cock in his mouth, hollows his cheeks out and sucks, swallows around Mark’s dick, winces at the feeling of drool spilling out of the corners of his mouth and down his chin. Mark closes his knees around his body, and Chan gets it all of a sudden, like he’s been struck over the head with it. 

Mark and him are mirrors of each other.

He pulls off of Mark’s cock in surprise. 

“H—Chan?” Mark says. 

“Get up,” Chan says, convinced so intensely of the quality of this new idea that he doesn’t even wait for Mark, just grabs his arm and hauls them both up. He almost trips over his pants, which are still right around his knees, but Mark catches him. He pushes Mark in front of the sink, and Mark blinks into the mirror. His face goes slightly pink, but not too red. Interesting. Other than his mostly-composed expression, he looks exactly like he’s been messing around in a bathroom. His hair is all over the place, and there’s a faint sheen of sweat on his neck. Chan doesn’t look much better. 

“Stay still,” Chan instructs. Mark watches him, eyes wide, as he moves to stand in front of Mark, between his body and the sink. He wanted to suck Mark off to completion, but really, Mark shouldn’t come down his throat, and this isn’t about him anymore. As it always is, it’s about Chan and his goal. (So much for slipping out of Seventeen’s Maknae Dino.) 

His goal is Mark. Making Mark feel good. Right.

He gets his arms around Mark’s slim waist, touches Mark’s cock. “Look at yourself,” he says. Mark’s eyes snap to his, then back to his own reflection. “Like that,” Chan says. And then he kneels again, trailing his fingers down Mark’s waist, down the line of his muscles to his cock. He gets his mouth on Mark once more, and really goes for it this time, jerking him off with his hand at the base, hollowing his cheeks and sucking, flicking his tongue over the slit every once in a while. 

“You are so beautiful,” Mark says, unable to keep the words in anymore. “Whoever taught you to suck dick did a good job. You’re so—fuck—” he breaks off when Chan reaches up to grab his hands. Chan guides him to his shoulders, and then groans around Mark’s cock when Mark squeezes. He wriggles, squirms, and Mark lets out a quiet, “Oh, fuck.”

If they had all the time in the world, and Chan wasn’t due to be out of the bathroom in seven-to-ten minutes, and they weren’t about to be on T.V., and Chan wasn’t under what feels like the strictest fucking company in the world, Chan would prep himself while Mark watched, while he made Mark watch, and then he’d ride Mark, let Mark fuck him against a wall, would squirm against him so Mark could feel him struggle, so Mark could feel him _give up_ , so Mark could feel _himself_. Mark would look so pretty under him, moaning and panting and thrusting up into Chan, and Chan would fight to keep his face in check, even if it was only Mark, Mark whom he doesn’t even really know, because that’s what he does.

He pushes his tongue in right at the slit in the head of Mark’s cock, and Mark swears, slurred and stammering, above him. “I’m gonna come,” Mark warns. 

Chan can’t resist one more suck. He pulls off and ducks further under the sink, bumping his head on the pipes. 

“Ow,” he says. 

Mark giggles again, although this time it’s breathless and bordering on hysterical. Ugh. 

“Come in the toilet,” Chan says. “I don’t have time to clean up.”

Mark makes a face, but walks over to the toilet. Chan scrambles up to follow him, trips over his pants, gets up again, and gets his hand around Mark’s cock at the same time that Mark does. Mark spits into his other hand and then reaches for his, too, and that’s how they get off, with each other’s hands on their cocks. It feels awfully juvenile. Chan is way past this, mutually getting each other off into a toilet to destroy the evidence like he’s a teenager again. But that’s what happens when you’re an idol, he supposes. Juvenile and doe-eyed, miserable for 40 years, what’s the difference? You age only as fast as the youngest member does, and they age only as much as the fans want. Chan has had to beg to be treated how he feels, and still he doesn’t know if that’s what he wants. Seventeen’s Maknae Dino isn’t that much different from Lee Chan, or maybe Lee Chan isn’t that much different from Seventeen’s Maknae Dino. 

“For the record,” Chan says, “nobody taught me how to suck dick. I taught myself.”

Mark twists his wrist, more frantic energy than finesse, and Chan thumbs at his head. He pulls his hand back just in time for Mark to splatter come on the lid of the toilet.

Mark throws his head back and groans, and Chan spills all over Mark’s hand, because Mark didn’t take his away. 

“That didn’t work,” Chan says, modulating his voice so it’s gentle, so Mark knows he’s not mad. “We made a mess. Next time, call me the night before.”

“You’re scary,” Mark says again, but he’s grinning wide now, so Chan knows it’s meant as a compliment. 

“I’m almost late,” Chan says. 

Mark checks his watch. “Three and a half minutes,” he says. 

Chan sways, hesitating.

“I’ll clean up,” Mark says. He gestures to the sink. Chan washes his hands and tries to fix his face as much as he can. Mark washes his hands quickly after him. Chan hops back into his pants. Mark finishes washing his hands so quickly Chan suspects they’re not really clean, and comes over to help Chan. 

Oh, dear, he’s kind of a sweetheart. 

Mark helps Chan pull up his pants, palms his ass one more time, and hesitates with his hands a few centimeters from Chan’s waist when Chan buttons himself back up.

Chan looks up. 

“Thank you,” Mark says. “I’ll make it up to you next time.”

Chan smiles, coasting on the edge between Lee Chan and Seventeen’s Dino, wrung out and sated and floating. “Let’s hang out sometime,” he says. “We can practice Mandarin together.”

Mark closes the gap and grabs his waist, then leans down and kisses him on the corner of his mouth. It’s sweet. So sweet it makes Chan sick. Mark giggles again. 

“Shut up,” Chan mutters.

Mark swats his ass. “Mean,” he says. 

Chan smirks. “Clean up your mess,” he says. “See you later.” 

He leaves. Soonyoung is already in the makeup chair when he gets there. Wonwoo raises his eyebrow at him, and so does Seungcheol when Chan walks past him, but neither of them brings it up.

“Did you have fun with Mark?” Jun asks when Chan gets to his chair, because he’s an asshole that way. Chan glances at him. He’s watching Chan, actually, one hand on his phone in his lap like he’s about to call one of his friends in NCT to tell them to give Mark a punch in the face for Chan if he needs, because he’s also caring that way.

“Yeah,” Chan says, flopping down bonelessly into the chair. “Did you find Renjun?”

Jun’s smile tells him all he needs to know.

  
  
  
  
  


He gets a text two minutes before they have to leave their phones. 

**From: unknown number**

Renjun says to tell Jun he has his hoodie

Chan chews on the inside of his lip so he doesn’t mess up his makeup. Jun’s voice echoes in his head. _He has my number_.

**To: Lee Mark**

Pick a time and place, and I can bring it to you.

**Author's Note:**

> Oops?
> 
> playlist: [collaborative idolverse angst playlist](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/5P4lRoNfWKllGOAnBu8to0?si=5rcqKB3rQ-KK1thblq4iUw)
> 
> \--
> 
> _I get up, and nothing gets me down  
>  You got it tough; I've seen the toughest around  
> And I know, baby, just how you feel  
> You got to roll with the punches and get to what's real  
> Ah, can't you see me standing here  
> I got my back against the record machine  
> I ain't the worst that you've seen  
> Ah, can't you see what I mean?  
> Might as well jump!_


End file.
